This story is Seventh Doctor/Ace from an outsider point of view.

My name is Walt. I sell used cars.

Correction: I used to sell used cars here at Walt's Secondhand Emporium. That was before this afternoon, back when I still had stock to sell. Before those weirdos traipsed along and ruined my business.

We don't often have much trouble here in Idaho. I wasn't expecting any, that was for sure. In fact, business had been so slow lately that I didn't call in any employees this morning, and I was in my office near the back of the building when I heard the front door scrape open for just the second time all day.

I didn't rush out to greet them. Customers don't like it when you lurk around while they're browsing. They think you're going to pounce and give them the hard sell, and they don't relax enough to really see the merchandise. That's why I let my customers look around to their hearts' content and only emerge when I sense the moment is ideal.

So I didn't come out of my office right away. Just to get an idea of who I might be dealing with, though, I peeked out the door and saw these two strange people in my showroom. First I thought they were father and daughter. After all, the man looked old enough to be the girl's father. He was maybe in his middle forties. And she was, what? Eighteen, nineteen?

But after a few minutes of watching them, I changed my opinion. They were too familiar with each other. Not the "family" type of familiar, but more of a comfortable "old friends" familiar.

My next guess was that they were teacher and student. This theory was mostly based on the fact that they had approached near enough for me to hear bits of their conversation and the girl had called her companion "Professor". Besides, she seemed to be college-age and I could picture the man as a history teacher at some liberal-arts school. He just had that rumpled, eccentric look.

The girl puzzled me more. She wasn't unattractive, in a tough sort of way, but it was pretty clear she didn't care much about how she looked. Her hairstyle was no-nonsense, she probably hadn't used a brush since first thing in the morning, and if she was wearing makeup it was hard to tell. Her black leather jacket, dark jeans, and ragged backpack thrown over one shoulder added to a rather harsh look.

Much as she didn't care how she looked, though, it was even more obvious the guy didn't care about his own appearance. Who carries an umbrella when it's 90 degrees out and we're in the middle of a drought with no end in sight? On top of that, the hat he wore was weird and his sweater was weirder. All in all, I didn't hold out much hope for a sale to these two individuals.

Whatever hope I had nursed pretty much died when I figured out something else about them. They both had accents. The girl sounded English. The guy sounded Scottish, and he rolled his R's worse than a Mexican. Foreigners. That explained a hell of a lot.

I lost interest in them and turned back to my paperwork. Damn taxes, anyway.

That was why I didn't know what they were up to until I heard the first explosion. The force of it almost blew me off my chair. I hit the floor right after that of my own volition, because my first thought was that terrorists were attacking and I wanted to make as inconspicuous a target as possible. Eyes squeezed shut, I braced myself for anything. I didn't have to wait long for it to happen. The next explosion was closer and it showered me with shards of rubble and metal. When I opened my eyes again, I could see right out into the showroom through the huge hole that had appeared in the side of my office where my filing cabinets used to be.

The two customers were running around, shouting back and forth. They seemed to be chasing, or being chased by, small scurrying creatures that looked like hairy snakes with legs. I saw the girl yank some canisters out of her backpack and stick them under several of my best cars. Then she high-tailed it in the opposite direction, and boom, my livelihood was blown to bits.

I could only huddle on the floor and watch as my business fell apart around my ears. High-pitched squealing, low rumbling, and other odd noises came filtering through to my ears between each explosion, but those sounds didn't mean anything to me. The only noise I wanted to hear was that of a police siren coming to my rescue. If my phone hadn't been blasted out of the wall, I would have called the cops myself. Being stranded on the outskirts of town has drawbacks and one is the distance from law enforcement.

After a time the explosions did stop even without police intervention. By then I was pretty near catatonic, I don't mind admitting. The thudding of approaching footsteps couldn't even get me to move. Then someone knelt in front of me. I cautiously glanced up and met the gaze of the strange Scottish man. The girl stood next to him. Her hair was a loose mess, her right cheek was scraped and bleeding, and her eyes glowed fanatically. She looked vibrantly alive, and I was never more afraid of anyone in my entire life.

The man doffed his hat to me. Of all things to do, he doffed his hat. Then he said, "Our apologies for the trouble, Walt."

I started. How in the world did he know my name? Oh, of course. My nametag and the fact that the business bore my name.

The fellow went on, "We had to dispose of the Oturikes, you see. They left us no other choice. They fled into this building and the damage was unavoidable."

I meant to tell him off but instead gibbered something unintelligible.

The girl laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "C'mon, Professor. He's in a right state. Let's just leave him alone to calm down. Anyway, you can bet the police are on their way."

"Very well, Ace." He sighed and straightened, then brightened. "As a bit of an apology..." He dug through his pockets while the girl -- Ace -- impatiently tapped her foot. "Here you are, Walt. Goodbye." Whatever he'd found, he placed it on the floor by my side.

I didn't get up as they left, hand in hand, beaming at each other like they'd just achieved world peace. That was when I knew they weren't father and daughter, and they weren't professor and student, either. They were Bonnie and Clyde, and if they weren't going to screw each other like bunnies once they got somewhere private, I didn't know anything.

When I finally heard police sirens in the distance, it was too little, too late. Then I looked at the stuff the Scottish man had left for me. To his credit, it was a wad of cash. To his discredit, none of the currency was American. In fact, I couldn't tell which country had issued it.

I knew I should have kept the insurance policy on this place up to date.

So that's the story of my day. Two strangers waltzed in and destroyed my life. They blew up my best cars, trashed my files, scared the shit out of me, and then they had the nerve to run off holding hands.

Like I said, they were weirdos.